I launched into what was by now a well practiced diatribe, and gradually the feeling of deja vu began to seep in. Her response was less than riveted, as I blushingly realized I had told it all to her the last time we talked. Maybe word for word. Here was prime time one on one interaction and I was muddying it with stale rants. Really? Was this the best I could do? 

After doing a one eighty on the subject I abruptly repurposed our brief hours together. Probably she was relieved. 

But the faux pas lingered like a blood stain. Was this the way I want to be known, for my complaints? While she had said nothing in the direction of either rebuttal or sympathy I was my own judge and jury. If I only have an hour every few months to be with her, negativity should not make the cut. 

One time John went to Africa for a month, and while he was gone I started to log the irritations and problems that occurred in his absence. This was before Skype, and there seemed little chance that he would be able to call. I had a lengthy and colorful list by the time he actually found a phone. But when the crackling stopped, suddenly all of my grousing seemed pathetically insignificant. 

For an expensive twenty seconds, I was silent. Then I choked out the only words worth voicing. 

"I love you."